Revolution
by White.Black.Truth.Lies
Summary: Alex has outlived his useful-ness and now he's on the run. Meanwhile Mrs. Jones and Smithers lead a guerilla team of disgruntled agents against Blunt. But will they overthrow him in time to stop Alex from being eliminated? Previously called 'Elimination'
1. Burn

**AN: I have been working on this for the better part of seven months and i still am not sure where i'm going with it. i decided to post it and see what everyone thought before continuing. Hope you like... Lies.**

**Oh... almost forgot this thing... Disclaimer: I don't own alex rider but i wish i did.**

**Burn**

The young woman lay, sprawled on the cold linoleum floor of a modest yet expensive modern kitchen. Her face was pale, an ashy white, contrasting sharply against the dark red stain seeping slowly from the gash on her throat.

The blood red mixed, blending in and congealing in the woman's long, Bright red hair, leaving it in a sticky clump over her up turned face.

Her eyes, glassy and lifeless, stared up at the ceiling, shock, horror and fear etched onto her features.

A tiny burn blistering on her cheek for the world to see, a scorpion.

* * *

Alex Rider waved goodbye to his best friend Tom Harris, kicking up the stand on his bike he sped up as he rode out of Brooklands front gates.

School had been, as school almost always is, dead boring.

If it hadn't been for the immense amount of school work he still had piling up on his desk at home he would have let himself fall asleep in all of his classes.

Unfortunately unlike Tom, he didn't have a normal life, and he probably never would again.

Looking forward to seeing Jack and showing her the special progress report card that the principal had given him, telling anyone who cared that he had almost caught up to the rest of his year, he quickened his pace.

Taking the last hill in a race against an uneasily familiar black car, Alex skidded to a stop right outside his front door.

Fumbling with his keys for a second he finally grasped the right one and turned it in the lock, being greeted by the soft clicking sound as it unlocked he opened the door. Calling out to Jack, he walked through the hallway to the kitchen dumping his bag and loosening his tie. He called out again as his growling stomach reminded him why he was heading for the kitchen. Kicking his shoes off as he continued to call Jacks' name.

"Jack, I've got good news. I'm almost caught up." He called out, smiling happily. Then he turned the corner and walked into the kitchen and his grin slowly slipped of his face like melted butter.

A loud scream sounded, echoing in his ears and he felt like telling the person who was making such a loud noise to shut up; didn't they realise what was happening? Then it registered that he was the one that was screaming. And he closed his mouth sharply. He ran forward and fell to his knees at his friends' side. "Jack… Jack…Jack…"

Numbly, he felt hands pulling at him, trying to tug him back, away from Jack.

"No… no… let me go!" he struggled against the hands, trying to get back to Jack. "Let me go to her!" but the hands were insistent, they continued to pull him until finally, he gave in, stumbling back exhaustedly. They led him away, out of the house and into fresh air.

He could feel himself going into shock.

"Jack."

* * *

Alex sat in Blunts' office, his eyes were closed and his face was stained with tear tracks. A tissue was crumpled loosely in his hand and he slumped in the hard, wooden chair.

Mrs. Jones stood opposite him, watching him intently as she unwrapped another peppermint. Blunt sat behind his desk, scribbling furiously at a form his secretary had just bought in.

Alex opened his eyes as the scratching of Blunts' pen stopped.

"Alex…" Blunt started.

"You lied to me."

Mrs. Jones bit into the peppermint and quickly unwrapped her tenth one.

Alex continued to speak, in a soft, accepting voice.

"But you always lie to me, so I don't know why I was so surprised at first." He looked up from the floor and stared Blunt right in the eye.

"You told me scorpia was gone, that they were going to leave me alone, now, Jack is dead. I wasn't there to protect her. I couldn't do anything to help. I didn't even know they were a threat." His hands formed into fists. He closed his eyes again.

"Blunt, if you ever call me again, if you ever try to blackmail me into working for you, I will personally see to it that you die sooner then you expected." Alex stood up. He smiled gently. "Now that she's gone, there's nothing you can do. I very much hope," he paused and turned his back on the two occupants of the office. "That I never have to think about you two ever again." Alex left, closing the door quietly behind him.

* * *

Alex walked back to his house slowly; he was not really in any hurry to get back to the scene of Jacks' murder. A collage of different thoughts raced through his mind. But he always went back to the one thought he didn't want to dwell on. Jack. Alex sighed, swerving in and out of the crowds in a daze.

* * *

Mrs. Jones sat down in the chair Alex had just vacated.

"What are we going to do Alan?"

Blunt sighed inwardly, still not showing any emotion. "Alex has become too dangerous, he could ruin everything. It's time to eliminate him." Mrs. Jones eyes widened.

"What? Alan we can't he's just a child!" she protested.

Blunt shook his head. "That's never stopped us before. The order has already been given. I expect no interference on your behalf Mrs. Jones."

**AN: so... what did everyone think?**


	2. Mutiny

**AN: thanks go to Agent-to-the-rescue for coming up with the title. **

**Mutiny**

Mrs. Jones tried to keep her work life and her personal life separate. You just never know what might happen if a terrorist organization gets a hold of the fact that, you care about someone.

Say for instance they got a hold of Alan Blunt. Well, since Mrs. Jones didn't give a crap what happened to that awful man, it was safe to say she would be able to make decisions with a clear head.

However, if they managed to capture her husband… then she would have a problem. The overwhelming love and devotion that she held for her second half would instantly make it near impossible to make the right, (if not tragic,) decision about what to do.

So, apart from two people that she found she could not possibly avoid blurring the safety line of her two worlds for, she was pretty good at keeping the two apart.

One of those two people though, was Smithers. And, at the precise moment that Mrs. Jones was walking back to her office after having been dismissed from her boss, Tulip found a reason why she was glad she had taken the risk.

Alan would be watching her every move. That much was certain. But she was not entirely defenseless. You see, on the second Thursday of every month Tulip met her dear friend Smithers for lunch at a quiet, but expensive restaurant. It just so happened that today was Thursday.

Tulip grinned to herself.

Smithers would know what to do.

The restaurant was not busy. In fact, apart from Mrs. Jones and Smithers there would be only two other groups who were in the middle of dining.

It was 1:30 and Tulip was late. She was never late. Smithers scanned the area for any threats that might be the reason his dining companion was late but found nothing that alerted him to immediate danger.

It was not until 1:45 that Tulip showed up. Smithers had just been getting ready to call, thinking she may have been caught up in a meeting that she was unable to get out of, when she bustled in.

She sat down and smiled at him, apologizing for her tardiness as she waved her hand for the waiter.

Smithers waited politely while she ordered herself a drink then raised an eyebrow.

Her eyes darted around the room, surveying the occupants of the room for possible eavesdroppers and then she intoned in a low voice.

"We have a problem."

Smithers smiled, letting loose a small chuckle as she took her glass of diet coke from the returning waiter.

She sipped at it and then sighed.

"That's much better; it's been such a long day."

Smithers nodded, "I had to test some new things for Alex today, it was fun but trying, Harry is still learning."

They ordered the usual and after one last check for Blunt's henchmen, Mrs. Jones started to explain, in a jovial voice, what was wrong.

"You heard the news?"

Smithers nodded, bowing his head for a moment. "It is very sad."

"Yes, well, that's the least of our worries. Blunt has decided to stop using Alex."

Smithers chortled, as if he had just heard an extremely amusing joke.

"Is he sending people?" he replied and Mrs. Jones nodded and laughed.

"He's being very unreasonable, and he's not telling me anything, he says he's watching me." Smither's eyes widened and he gasped.

"Really? That's unexpected, when is the baby due?"

"You know Betsy, she's so scatterbrained, and she thought I knew, so she didn't call until she was in labor. She called again this morning to tell me it was a boy."

Mrs. Jones ignored the draining of blood from Smithers face and shook her head.

"I still don't know what his name is, she hasn't even decided yet, the doctors had to take him for some tests because he was premature so she said she would call back later with more details."

Their food came at that moment and they ate in silence for a minute, each mulling over different ideas and thoughts in their heads.

Their carefully played charade had allowed them to discuss the major points of the problem but they were unable to talk about the finer details, like how they were going to stop Blunt without being caught.

After their lunch they had to go back to work, they walked together, able to talk a little more openly when they were surrounded by the ruckus of inner city London traffic.

It was finally decided that Smithers would search for as much information as possible on the hit, while Tulip informed those very few people she trusted even slightly in her payroll, about what was going on.

Rula Parks was a fierce, slightly scary middle-aged woman who loved plotting against people she disliked. Actually, disliked is too weak a word… hated with a passion would be a better way to describe it.

That cunning, and the fact that one of the people Rula plotted against frequently was Blunt, meant that Mrs. Jones felt she could trust the younger woman.

And they had a lot in common, for example they both hated Blunt like dogs hate cats.

So, when Mrs. Jones sent for her friend, after checking her office for bugs of course, Rula responded immediately and arrived, promptly at three for a loud argument about why their last agent had been caught. Completely innocent if anyone was eavesdropping.

Of course, if someone were actually watching them, which Tulip had made sure no one was, they would have seen that while it may have appeared the two colleagues were having quite a heated argument, they were really passing notes back and forth between themselves.

**Blunt has decided to eliminate Rider.**

_**You're not serious?**_

**I'm deadly serious Rula, he sent out the hit today.**

_**What do we know?**_

**Nothing. He isn't talking to me, he won't let me in on anything.**

_**What are we going to do?**_

**I've already talked to Smithers. Blunt is watching me. Smithers will get all the information we need. Who can we trust?**

Rula sighed, shaking her head she glanced behind her, staring at the door as if she could actually see through the wood to the several people that worked quietly behind it.

_**Barnes. Coute. Grant. No one else. It is too risky.**_

**Right. Inform them. Be careful.**

----------

**AN: Alright this was finished in a rush during lunch break at school so I apologize to those that read all those spelling and grammar mistakes. I have fixed up the more annoying ones. I hope you all liked it. It is longer then the first but not by much. I'd love it if someone could give me a few clues on what you want the gents personalities and appearances to be like. The owners of the ones I choose will be thanked when the agents appear, in the next couple of chapters I think.**

**So thanks for reading. Til next time, Lies.**


	3. Alone

**Disclaimer: I don't own Alex Rider**

Jamie Coutts stared at the happy clown figurine that stood, frozen in mid-cartwheel on Rula Parks Desk. The clown had taken the place of a different clown, one that had been frowning and crying into a bucket.

Jamie hadn't cared about that clown though, it had meant nothing. But this clown, this happy and joyful clown, meant everything; because it was finally starting, they were finally going to do something.

Yes.

* * *

Alex Rider sat in the doorway that lead to the kitchen. He stared at the spot where Jack had been found, bleeding and cold. Why Jack? Why not him? What did they think they'd accomplish? Did they want to make him hate them more?

The floor was clean, except for a slight pinkish stain that he was unable to look at. His eyes skirted around it, concentrating on the floor around it.

"I'm so sorry Jack." He croaked, burying his head in his knees. "I'm so sorry I couldn't save you." The tears flowed again, wetting his knees and dribbling down his thighs. "I'm so sorry."

The tears stopped about an hour later, Alex, too exhausted to move. He leant against the door frame, resisting the urge to hit his head against the wood until he blacked out. He had to... do... something... if only he could remember what it was... it was... it was... uh... His eyes felt heavy, they closed slowly, itchy redness stinging his cheeks.

He couldn't remember, but it was important. It was... it... was... He yawned loudly. It... it... Alex Rider fell asleep, Jack's name echoing around his head.

* * *

Rula Parks watched as four different people smiled secretly, glancing around the room before their gazes all fell back onto the happy, smiling clown that she had placed upon her desk on that morning.

She watched their anticipation rising, their excitement becoming hard to contain. She smiled to herself, she felt the same way.

The rebellion had commenced.

Blunt was going down.

* * *

Meanwhile, in a room that could be found on the other side of the building, down three dirty staircases and a long, dark corridor, a little grey man in an impeccable grey business suit was briefing an assassin of his latest mission. **(AN: no not Yassen)**

The assassin had dark brown hair and a face that was as plain as could be. His slim body was swallowed by a large dark blue sweater and jeans that were held up by at least two different belts. All in all, his appearance screamed unprofessional. But Blunt didn't care, this particular assassin may have been different then all the other, well dressed, presentable contract killers he had worked with, but he was damn good at his job; and that's all that mattered.

"So, you know your task?" Blunt questioned finally.

The killer nodded his head, gazing uninterestedly at the wall just a little above Blunt's head.

Blunt slid a file over the desk that stood between them. "This is all the information you need to know about the target. I'll expect a report within the next forty-eight hours. I'll have someone escort you out." Blunt got up, moving to the door and opening it to reveal a heavily muscled man and a gun. "Could you please escort Mr. Jalin out to the foyer? Thank you Charles." The gaurd nodded as the assassin got up. The door closed behind them with a thud and Blunt sat down in the seat he had just vacated.

A line creased between his brows and joined the other ones that had set up a permanent residence as he sighed, shaking his head in exhaustion.

Sometimes he rued the day he had met the Rider's.

* * *

Alex rider didn't move from his spot against the kitchen door. As the hours passed, he stared at the linoleum, not moving, barely blinking. Frozen.

The clock ticked slowly, each second louder than the one before. Tick, tock, tick tock, tick, tock, tick... until the rhythm had drilled itself into his mind and he counted along with it. Tick, one, tock, two, tick, three, tock, four, tick, five, tock, six, tick... snap.

Alex blinked, his ears straining at the unexpected sound. It had been faint but definite; a crunch, like somebody stepping on a twig.

He got to his feet slowly, quietly scanning his surroundings. There were no lights on; he had not seen the point of getting up to switch them on, so it was dark. The only light came from the streetlamp that shone outside the open kitchen window.

Shadows decorated the kitchen, the hallway, throwing weird designs onto tables and chairs, cupboards and walls. Alex turned on the spot, he didn't need the light on; he had lived in this house for years. On and off for a while when he and his uncle had been travelling to different countries but almost permanently since the age of nine. He knew every nook and cranny of the house, as if he had built the place with his own two hands.

He closed his eyes for a second, and when he opened them, he started moving, switching from grieving mode to spy mode effortlessly; running on instincts alone.

Carefully he made his way through the lounge room, quietly moving over to the old oak cabinet that Jack had used to collect and display all thee figurines and books she found to her liking. A draw to the left is the one that Alex looked for, opening it softly and letting his bare hand feel for the cold steel of a gun. He rested it in the palm of his hand, testing it, grasping it. He left the draw open, not wanting to risk making any noise by closing it. He crept across the room, cutting through the laundry to the back door.

It was silent outside. There was no sign of life, be it human, or the next door neighbour's cat, Stumpy.

He turned to move from the door, confident that the backyard was clear, when his entire left arm exploded in pain. He cried out, cutting the sound off almost immediately and closing the door with a slam, locking it instinctively behind him.

He ran back the way he came, forming a plan as he raced to the kitchen.

There was a smash as a window as a window was broken and Alex felt the rush of adrenaline coursing through him quicken and rise.

He skidded to a halt once he entered the kitchen, holding his bleeding arm and cursing silently. He opened the drawers around him, looking for a weapon he could use; he didn't want to use the gun. Not yet.

His hand curled over the handle of a steak knife. The wooden grip rough against his palm.

Perfect.

He turned around so his back was to the bench. He could hear the soft footfalls of someone fighting to keep quiet, the low breathing, the swish, swish, swish of cloth.

Who was it? Scorpia? The triads? An idiot robber? Who had he pissed off in the last two years?

The list of people started scrolling in his mind's eye and he groaned mentally. Why? Why do you have a death wish Alex? He asked himself. His hand was slippery, his grip on the knife loosening as he took a step forward.

The figure had leapt through the doorway, and Alex lunged.

He leapt forward, hoping the attack was surprising enough to save him. Almost. He felt the knife grazing skin, cutting and slicing, but when he pulled back it was no more than a flesh wound. He moved to attack again but this time, the figure, although still grunting in pain, was ready. He kicked out, performing a complicated hand and arm movement that had Alex blinking in confusion. The gun came back up and Alex felt another burst of energy. He hit out, fighting dirty, scratching and clawing and biting, aiming for all the sensitive parts of the body; the head, the throat the groin.

He scrambled away as the man fell to his knees, howling in pain. The knife had fallen, sliding across the floor. Alex's fingers clutched at it, wrapping around the handle as he turned and slashed.

The cut was long and deep, stretching, from what Alex could see, from the top of the left shoulder to the middle of the stomach.

Alex slashed again, across the thigh and an arm. The unknown attacker was on the floor, writhing in pain. Alex held the knife, slick with sweat and blood, ready to cut again. The man rolled over.

Alex looked down into frantic blue eyes. "Who are you?" He questioned, holding the knife threateningly. "Who are you with?" The strange man stared up at him, panting and shuddering.

"Who the hell are you?" His voice grew louder, stronger as his anger threatened to spill.

"You shouldn't have disobeyed little Alex, no one disobeys their superiors."

Alex froze. Superiors?

"What super..." he cut himself off. "Blunt." He snarled.

He dropped the knife, making sure it was nowhere near the injured man as he lashed out angrily, stamping down on the beaten mans wrist. He left the room, not turning his back to the assassin.

He came back a moment later, a thick rope coiled in his hands.

Tying the defeated, bleeding man up efficiently and quickly, he ran back out o the room and up the stairs.

He had no idea how long it would take for MI6 to realise he was not dead and he wasn't going to take any chances. He hoped there had only been one assassin sent after him but rationalised that if the first had not been alone he would never have been able to defeat him without being set open by the first's partner.

He made it to his room and went straight to his bed, kneeling down and reaching under, groping around until he found the large, grey and black backpack that he used to take with him when he and his uncle went camping.

He opened it wide and started throwing clothes and pictures into the opening haphazardly, opening draws and boxes as he searched for everything that was both necessary and too precious to give up. He was not sure if he would be back and if he wasn't able to, he didn't want to have left something he needed behind. One box was emptied of its contents of small and not so small pocket knives, another of pictures of Jack and Tom, his uncle and parents. He chucked in a small bag of bathroom supplies and picked the bag up, backing out of his room and descending the stairs.

He ventured back into the kitchen, skirting around the struggling man and tossed in a couple of dried foods before crossing the room to the small shelf where Jack had kept a money jar she claimed was for a rainy day but was just because she liked to stare at the folded notes and shiny coins.

He placed it carefully into the bag, zipped the bag and placed the stuffed bag on the floor. He went through a checklist of things to do in his head and checked them off mentally as he did each one. He grabbed his coat from the front door, pulling it on and slipping into his shoes, his mobile was taken out of his pocket and thrown somewhere in the vicinity of the bin, his wallet stuffed into another pocket as he listened for any noises outside.

He went back into the kitchen, glaring at the unconscious assassin as he picked up his bag and stared at the blood that covered the kitchen floor. The faint spot of blood that he had been trying not to look at all night had been covered by this nameless man's own sticky life force and Alex scowled, before turning his back and walking out. Down the hall to the door, he turned the handle, turned one last time and stepped through the doorway, slamming the door shut behind him as he scanned the area for danger and proceeded to walk down the street; wondering what in the world he was meant to do, or even where the hell he could go.

Because now he was truly alone in the world. Finally an orphan like he had been labelled what seemed like a lifetime ago.

**AN: Hello! Well this took a while... but not as long as caught has been taking... I'm very sorry for that. It should be up in the next week or so, should.**

**I hope you liked this chapter... it was longer than normal, over two thousand words and it was very difficult to write. Oh and if anyone has any complaints about how easy it was for Alex to defeat that assassin. I totally agree... I just couldn't be bothered drawing the fight scene out a whole lot. Anyway, until next time,**

**Lies.**


End file.
